


Tag Teams

by GhostoftheMotif



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Awkwardness, Brotherhood, Drunkenness, First Kiss, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-09
Updated: 2011-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostoftheMotif/pseuds/GhostoftheMotif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Germany and America have become friends after a few years of doing damage control for the drunken mayhem that is their brothers' relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tag Teams

Germany brought his cell to his ear before the first ring was properly finished. “Did you find them?” he asked, mind only half on the call, the other half searching the windows of diners and pubs along the street. His footsteps weren’t that loud against the sidewalk, but he tried to concentrate on them above the dull buzz of conversation from passersby. Granted, counting his footsteps only served as a few, punctuating moments of calm amongst the much larger expanse of his frustration and worry.

“ _No…_ ” America’s voice was tired. “ _You think they might have gone back home…? We could have missed them._ ”

Germany reached the end of the street, saw nothing but apartments in front of him, and turned back the way he came. Covering his eyes for a few moments, he sighed. “I’ll try calling again when we hang up. Did you check to see if they’d been arrested?”

“ _Dude, c’mon. First place I looked._ ”

“Right. Sorry.” The syllables were clipped, distracted.

“ _Look… I’m sure they’re fine._ ” It was that tone. America’s Germany-stop-thinking-so-much tone. “ _They’re kinda badass even when they’re drunk._ ”

“The voicemail---”

“- _\--Was probably Gilbert messing around. ‘Holy shit I don’t know where the fuck we are’ is hardly news when he starts drinking, now is it?”_

“He sounded…” Germany swallowed, looked at the sidewalk, counted steps. One-two, three, four-five. “… worried.”

“ _He’s a drama king. He’s always melodramatic, and he’s always fine._ ” America gave a comforting laugh. “ _I’ll probably get a drunk text from England in a few minutes wanting to know why the hell we haven’t picked them up yet_.”

There was a brief silence.

“I might kill them this time,” Germany interjected conversationally.

“ _Our nights just aren’t complete until one of us says that. Why don’t we meet at your place, and we can come up with a new plan?"_

Germany took a breath and then veered to the left in the direction of his car. “All right. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“ _Yeah. Bye_.”

\---

It had been going on for several years. Prussia and England discovered they weren’t very adept at tolerating each other while sober, but found that they enjoyed each other’s company immensely when drunk. Along with that enjoyment came brawls, arrests, pranks, 2 am phone calls, 2 am mock attacks on sleeping nation’s homes, recounting past transgressions at a volume that rarely dipped below a dull roar, and more sex than Germany really cared to think about. At all. Ever.

What England and Prussia hadn’t really counted on was the effect their newfound “alliance” would have on their younger brothers. Trying to hunt down Prussia or England before had been daunting; trying to hunt Prussia and England down when they were a team was damn near impossible. Originally, Germany had thought the task would fall largely to him.

He was wrong.

America was more than helpful, he was indispensable. Finding England seemed to be one area in which he retained a level head, and he somehow managed to keep Germany from imploding from anxiety _just by smiling_. More than that, America didn’t lecture Germany the way Austria did when instead of yelling at Prussia, Germany simply sighed, took his arm, and gently guided him to the car. It was refreshing to have someone that didn’t think of him as his brother’s keeper.

Germany paused on the doormat and lifted the loose piece of wood on the window-frame beside him. The spare key was still there. Reassuring himself that Prussia and England could let themselves in if they needed to, he opened the door and walked inside. America’s Harley had been in the drive, so he wasn’t surprised when he heard the television was on. “I’m here,” he called out before shutting the door and shucking off his coat.

“I _think_ this is a soap opera I’m watching, but I have no idea what they’re saying,” was the lighthearted reply.

The living room was dark except for the bluish white light of the tv screen, and Germany frowned as he walked in. Swallowing a speech on damaging his eyesight further, Germany crossed to the armchair next to the couch America was lounging on, and sat down. “So… where haven’t we ruled out yet?”

America fiddled with the remote, turning down the volume on the tv. “Well… I called all the usual dives in London, and no one’s seen them, so I think they’re definitely _here_. Plus it’s Prussia’s turn to pay, right?”

Germany did some quick math in his head. “It should be. I’m not sure what he’s going to pay with though unless he stole my card again.” His wallet was in his hand before the sentence made it over his tongue. He flipped it open, gave it a cursory look, and sighed. There was a post-it note of a smiley-face sticking its tongue out. “He did.”

“At least they didn’t take your car this time…?” America offered supportively.

He rested his head on a fist, eyes screwed shut against an oncoming headache. “Thank you for the optimism, but that just means they’ll spend more on cab fare.”

“Oh. Well… um…” America cast around for something to suggest. “You checked the local bars already, right?” He continued when Germany nodded. “We could go check the parks, see if they wandered out in public? It’s a nice night… England might have wanted to see the sky.”

Germany shot America a sideways glance. There was a glint in the other nation’s eyes, something that said England wasn’t the only one who would want to be out under the stars. “Yeah… I suppose…”

America beamed at him.

“Let’s wait here a little longer in case they turn up…” Germany took a breath, reclining back in his chair. “Then we can take my car and---”

“---nah, let’s take my bike.”

Germany lifted his head to look at America more directly, intending to reject the idea. America was leaning forward, arms resting on his legs, eyebrows arched, waiting for an answer. The way America was smiling though, and the expression he got when he was anticipating something… it was difficult to say no to him, and it wasn’t as if Germany didn’t like motorcycles so much as it was very late, and motorcycles were loud, and people were sleeping, and America didn’t have a second helmet, and there were safety regulations, and…

“Hey, man, don’t worry about it! I’m a great driver,” America winked. “It’ll be fun. When was the last time you got to go for a ride?”

Heat rose in his face as his mind took a different turn, and he looked away. “… A while…”

“Perfect!” America relaxed, settling back. He crossed his arms and kicked one leg over the other. “Let’s give them twenty, and then we’ll head out, yeah?”

Germany nodded, still not looking at him.

\---

America was right. It was a nice night.

Of course, Germany might have been able to appreciate it more if he wasn’t too busy worrying for his life. America seemed to have a knack for finding the only stretches of heavy traffic in the city at three in the morning. Germany had started out with his hands tentatively on America’s waist ( _above_ the hip, _above_ the hip), but after the first left turn and close encounter with a courier van, Germany’s arms had readjusted firmly around the other nation’s middle. He thought he’d heard America’s laugh over the sound of the engine. Germany gave a small, half-smile despite himself.

It was strange, having this close proximity to America. They’d shared varying stages of emotional closeness over the decades, of friendship and confidence, but they’d rarely gotten closer than a few feet from each other physically. America was an easily tactile person, but Germany wasn’t, and he’d always respected that. Now, on the back of a motorcycle, at three am, tracking down their drunken, involved brothers…

Germany wasn’t sure if America had leaned back slightly or if he’d accidentally leaned forward himself, but suddenly the distance between his chest and America’s back had gone from negligible to nothing, and…

Then they were passing a field dotted with trees on their right, and America slowed to find a parking place. They came to a stop along the sidewalk, and Germany was quick to let go of America and slide off the seat. Standing on solid ground felt strange for a couple of seconds, and his skin was still humming from the vibration of the motorcycle. He tried very hard not to feel awkward about how the distance between himself and America went from zero to a meter in less than fifteen seconds.

The park was mostly empty and discouragingly quiet. Somehow Germany doubted that near silence would be the first thing they’d notice if Prussia and England were anywhere nearby. Experience dictated that there should be sirens in the distance and at least a _few_ raucous verses from a sea shanty at the very least.

“They could be passed out…?” America suggested, apparently thinking along the same lines. He ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to right the damage done by the ride; Nantucket now appeared to have made some friends. “Or just not yelling cuz their tongues are shoved down each other’s throats… Either way, they could still be here.”

“It can’t hurt to check.” Germany shoved his hands in his pockets and started along the stone path. “We should be thorough.”

\---

When ten minutes yielded signs of no one, let alone their brothers, Germany began to feel restless. The park wasn’t particularly large, and he felt that they should have noticed someone by that point. Despite what America had said about Prussia having a flare for the dramatic, Germany was still worried. He needed confirmation that the two wayward nations were all right, or at least enough hints of their location to logically reach that conclusion.

America didn’t seem to be having the same issue.

“---so now there’s this huge patch of red on the carpet, and I _tell_ everyone it’s blood cuz it freaks them out, and I don’t really want them near my entertainment center anyway, you know? But Canada gets all ‘oh, America, you shouldn’t do that’, and then I’m like ‘well tell your bear to lay off the v8, it’s gross and apparently makes giant stains’. I don’t think either of us really cares that much, we just have fun with the banter sometimes---”

The aimless conversation was a familiar thing to Germany; America would often talk about essentially nothing for great amounts of time, presumably as a form of distraction or source of calm. Utilizing skills he’d honed after prolonged contact with Italy, Germany was able to both pay attention to America’s story and still be conscious of their surroundings. Everything beyond America’s voice was quiet, and the light of the stars was crisp and sharp overhead in the absence of the moon. It made the greenery around them seem to fade into blues and greys.

All in all, it seemed entirely too peaceful of a venue to attract Prussia and England.

Germany was about to communicate the thought to America when he realized America had stopped walking. He turned to ask if he’d seen something, but stopped when he saw his expression.

The other nation was standing there, hands in the pockets of his jeans, jacket catching on his arms, face turned upwards. The lines of his face were soft and unaffected by his habitual smile, America’s classic paradox of being at once serious and light-hearted. No matter what clothes he was dressed in, t-shirts, suits, uniforms, Germany would always be able to recognize that stance. It was something so inherently _America_ that it was impossible to misconstrue. He was thinking broad and optimistic thoughts, and he was curious.

“What is it?” Germany asked, a little wary. The conversations they’d had when America got that expression had a history of making him either very nervous, doubtful, or pensive to the point of losing a few hours. He wasn’t always entirely secure when he came out the other side.

“Do you think it’ll last?” America replied almost immediately, eyes still fixed on the sky. “Our brothers I mean…” He lifted his hands to fold behind his head, tapping out a rhythm on his scalp with a few fingers. “Do you think they’re just messing around, or do they really care about each other now? I always thought it was the first one, but it’s been a few years now, and, well…”

Germany’s eyes shifted sideways to the ground before rising again. He’d considered the scenario before and found the sheer rises and drops, the pure _contradictions_ , in the relationship between Prussia and England were headache inducing. “I think… they’re… fonder of one another than they were before, that much is certain.” Following America’s gaze to the stars, he went on, “I wouldn’t wager on their chances for a more… serious relationship, but I no longer feel that it would be an impossibility. They are friends now, if nothing else.”

“And, uh…” There was the sound of shuffling, never a good sign. “What about us?”

His attention snapped back onto America to find that the other nation was looking at him.

America shrugged his shoulders and gave a crooked smile that was perhaps meant to be bashful but had too much of a shine. “I know we started hanging out more to keep an eye on England and Prussia, but I’d like to think we’d still see each other if they, uh…” He searched for a word and laughed out, “…imploded.”

“Erm…” It wasn’t that startling or personal of a question, so why was he struggling to answer it? Germany cast around for a decent phrasing. “I don’t see why you and I wouldn’t still see one another even if our brothers’ relationship…” He crossed his arms, lips twitching into a fleeting smile. “… _imploded_. It isn’t the entire basis of our friendship.”

“We might even get to have some fun instead of running around all night chasing them, huh?” America grinned. He walked forward until he was at Germany’s side, and they continued further down the path. “We end up in every bar in the city but never get to actually have a drink.”

Germany made a noncommittal noise, mildly distracted by the feel of the America’s jacket sleeve brushing against his arm; the other nation was walking considerably closer to him than he had been before. It made him want to adjust the collar of his shirt to try and tempt some sort of _air_ into cooling the sudden warmth beneath his skin rather badly.

“England has a bunch of meetings next week, so they won’t be able to go out then,” America went on. “Maybe we could take advantage of the calm and, I dunno…” Their shoulders touched. “Do something? I’ll be in New York, so it’s not like there’d be a lack of entertainment…”

“That… would be… nice,” Germany managed, blanking. What had happened to the personal space, the spatial boundaries? France and Italy often accused him of being socially awkward, but he was fairly certain that walking close enough for them to basically be running into each other because their _hips_ kept bumping was not the norm.

“Cool.” America angled his head to look at him. He was very close and his eyes were very blue in the starlight. “So… Tuesday, then?”

Suddenly he was anxious about more than his brother’s whereabouts. Although, he reasoned that if they _had_ found Prussia by this point, _he_ might have at least been able to give Germany a rundown on what was happening, because it was beginning to feel suspiciously less like America was suggesting a friend’s night out and more like a date. Germany cleared his throat. “I’ll have to check my schedule, but I believe that would be---”

“Awesome!” America interjected, taking the sentence as confirmation. “It’ll be great!”

Then he threw an arm around Germany’s shoulders, and Germany came very close to making what he was sure would have been an undignified sound… not because he was surprised, but because America _leaned against him as he did it_ , and that was new. Germany was able to clamp down on the noise and crossed his arms in front of his chest instead, uncertain of what to do with them in his current situation.

For the second time that night, America came to an abrupt halt.

They were both silent for a few moments, America looking back up at the sky, Germany’s eyes off to the side in the hopes America wouldn’t see the tinge of color in his face.

“Germany…” America spoke his name very slowly. It reminded him of when Austria would stretch out syllables before a lecture. “You… do realize I’m hitting on you, right?”

A few weighted heartbeats later, Germany responded, “I suspected, but I appreciate the confirmation. That is considerate of you.”

There was a laugh, accompanied by a wink. “I try.”

“You do occasionally succeed,” Germany mumbled.

America beamed at him. “Thanks!” He swung around to stand in front of him, and something almost challenging glinted in his eyes. “You know what else I occasionally succeed at?”

In the first few seconds of the kiss, Germany’s mind was still a little stuck on the logistics of that last statement (was he saying he occasionally succeeded in the _act_ of kissing someone, or the _quality_ of the kiss, or in obtaining his love interest, or was it just supposed to be banter?), but then the sensations of America’s hands on his waist and the touch and taste of his mouth caught up to him, and the thoughts quieted. At first Germany just felt shock, and his body went rigid, arms still folded in front of his chest and keeping America at a distance. Then America’s thumbs brushed over the bones of his hips, the other nation’s head tilting up to break the kiss and reconnect it again. Germany felt America’s bottom lip drag over his own, and his arms dropped to his sides.

America leaned into him, heart thudding against Germany’s chest, and he realized something: America was nervous. His hands and mouth were confident, but he was shaking. Germany’s arms lifted haltingly to press his palms into the small of America’s back, trying to make the pressure comforting, trying to make it obvious that he wasn’t pulling away. There was a pulse of disbelief and confusion still crawling through his veins, and it made Germany feel lightheaded, but at the same time the action was _easy_ enough for him to recognize that he, he _did_ want this, he _did_ want America this close.

They were interrupted by sudden song: _“I’ve been everywhere, man; I’ve been everywhere, man; Across the deserts fair, man; I breathed the mountain air, man---”_

“Fuck,” America cursed as he dug a hand in his pocket for his cell phone. His mouth was still nearly touching Germany’s, and when he opened his eyes, blue was mere inches in front of blue. He flipped the phone open, and when he heard the voice on the other end, his free hand on Germany’s hip tightened. “England! Where the hell--- what?” The look he gave Germany was one of incredulity and was accompanied by a long pause. “Are you… are you serious?” America stepped away from him, hand going to cover his eyes. “Yeah, yeah… We’re on the way.” Snapping his phone shut, he turned to look at Germany. “They’re at home. They’ve been at home for _hours_.”

Germany frowned through the still mostly dominant feeling of warmth. “What? But we were just there.”

“They’re on the fucking _roof_ ,” America ground out, throwing his hands up in the air.

“But… Prussia’s voicemail said he didn’t know where they were…” Germany tried to reason.

“Yeah, I have no clue.” The other nation shoved his hands in his pockets. “We’ll figure it out when we get there I guess.”

Germany nodded wordlessly, brow furrowed. His eyes trained on America’s hand when he heard the sound of jingling.

America flashed him a grin as he shook his keys. “Up for another ride?” 

\---

 

The ride back on America’s motorcycle had been just as pleasant, if not more so, than the first. Germany was more appreciative of it now that his mind was distracted by a haze of the sudden newness that had found its way into their relationship, as well as confusion over how they could have managed to miss their brothers; it made it significantly more difficult to notice the various ways America’s driving nearly introduced them to disaster when he was so otherwise occupied. In addition, it didn’t hurt that he was now certain the conspicuous lack of distance between their bodies was entirely on purpose. With the internal questioning gone, it was so much easier for Germany to ease forward, marvel at the friction of material from their clothes, tighten his arms around America’s waist…  
   
Of course, all this appreciation for warmth and motorcycle rides diminished greatly, soon after they arrived at Germany’s home.  
   
All it had taken was a walk around the back of the house to push Germany from seeing fireworks to seeing a startling amount of _stupid and reckless._  
   
Just as England had told America over the phone, the two nations they had spent all night searching for were indeed slung out over the roof, kept in place by the slight perch of the second-floor windows. Prussia’s jacket had been tied between two shutters and supported the alcohol supply, while England’s jacket provided a sort of guiding line from the satellite dish to the ladder. Germany’s mind immediately went to the cornucopia of ways they could fall, injure themselves in a grotesque fashion, and need to be taken into the hospital. Alternatively, he could hurt them himself for the raging case of irresponsibility, and _America_ could take them to the hospital.  
   
“Hey! Hey, bro!” Prussia shouted, lifting an arm to jerk a bottle in their direction in what was passably a wave. “The fuck took you so long? We’re hungry.”  
   
“Your pantry has an appalling lack of anything decent to eat,” England informed him over the mouth of his own bottle before taking a swig; Germany remarkably retained enough tact not to question his definition of decent.  
   
Prussia leaned back a bit to settle an arm over England’s shoulders and leer at him with a wide sneer. “Babe, if you wanted something _decent to eat_ , all you had to do was ask.” He kissed England’s neck, and England tilted his head invitingly to the side with a _hmm_ and a smirk, and Prussia’s hand picked up England’s and started moving it a little too far down his body---  
   
“ _Stop!_ ” Germany snapped hurriedly as America made retching noises beside him. “Just stop, both of you! And get off the roof!”  
   
Turning his head back towards them, but with his face still pressed into the curve of England’s neck and shoulder, Prussia flashed them a sharp grin. “Aw, I don’t think the kiddies like where this is going.”  
   
“They do so well on their own, I’m sure they’ve figured out how to close their eyes by now,” England countered with a matching smile.  
   
“We have been searching for the two of you all night, and we deserve some answers!” Germany shouted back, choosing to ignore where England’s hand had gone. He waited a moment for a call of agreement and elbowed America in the side when there wasn’t one.  
   
“Huh, what? Oh. Yeah! Answers! We want ‘em! Also, I’m pretty sure fooling around on the roof isn’t, you know, safe and stuff.” The enthusiasm America had injected into his voice faded a few notches when he realized that neither of the older nations were listening to him, had lain back against the roof, and were apparently unconcerned with their siblings’ presence.  
   
Anger and frustration ricocheted inside of Germany’s chest. “I was worried about you!” He yelled up to his brother. “What was that voicemail about? You said you didn’t know where you were! _This is our house!_ ”  
   
“Oh yeah!” Prussia shot up abruptly, his hair ruffled, and his shirt riding up his ribs. It looked like he’d been derailed and reminded of an important detail.  
   
Then he did something that clenched Germany’s heart in panic: he _stood up_ , on the roof, while drunk, and _why_ did they have a two-story house in the first place, that fall was _entirely_ too far.  
   
Prussia got his balance, looked up, and gestured at the sky accusatorily. “Are you seeing this shit?! There’s all those fucking stars up there, and we’re, and we’re just this _little, tiny, ball_ of somethin’ in the middle of nowhere, and do you know where we are in all of that? Because _fuck_ , man, I don’t even _know._ ” His hands fell to grip his hips. “This is some bullshit.”  
   
After a moment of opening and shutting his mouth wordlessly, Germany managed a matter-of-fact, “I might strangle him.”  
   
America’s hand settled on his shoulder. “Let’s just get them down from there first, yeah?”  
   
The simultaneously amused, incredulous, and concerned expression on America’s face relaxed Germany marginally, and his mouth set in a thin, determined line. “Yes. Quickly.”  
   
Five minutes later, they had safely (forcefully) removed Prussia and England from the roof. America had been left no option but to sling England over a shoulder (“ _Let go of me, you ungrateful, little--- oh, well this is just_ _unnecessary! I’ll remember this, I promise you!_ ), and Germany had to contend with Prussia’s sudden vehement belief that he could simply jump before finally getting him down the ladder. They left the jacket holding the alcohol where it was in the hope it would not tempt the situation into becoming any more irritating.  
   
As soon as Prussia and England were secure on solid ground, they immediately recovered from the injustice by drunkenly swaying and gaining balance by catching each other mouth-to-mouth.  
   
America and Germany recovered from _this_ injustice by looking determinedly in the opposite direction and shifting awkwardly.  
   
“Well… we found them…” America ventured, rubbing at the back of his neck.  
   
“I almost wish we hadn’t,” Germany groused in annoyance, even though they both knew the statement wasn’t true.  
   
\---  
   
If Prussia hadn’t been so preoccupied ---god _damn_ England could use his tongue--- he probably would have noticed it sooner. Drunk or not, let it never be said that Prussia didn’t have an eye for things people didn’t want him to see… And he was more than a little sure that his little brother would have preferred it if he hadn’t caught the significantly lessened amount of distance between him and America, or that tell-tale blush on Germany’s face that he got when he was nervous, or the way America ( _America_ , for chrissake) looked damn near _sheepish_ and excited at the same time. America’s thumbs were hooked in his pockets, and it looked like the man was itching to reach up with a free finger and latch onto one of Germany’s beltloops…  
   
Prussia disconnected his mouth from England’s with a cat-who-got-the-canary grin. England made a sound of protest, the strong grip in the fabric over Prussia’s chest tightening, but Prussia jerked his head covertly towards their brothers in explanation.  
   
It was obvious from the nigh instantaneous change in England’s expression that he missed _nothing_. A slow upwards turn and crookedness to his lips left him with a smile as near to Prussia’s own as two separate people could manage. “Well then…” he murmured lowly. “Isn’t that curious…”  
   
Pulling England by the hips nearer to him, Prussia kissed the side of his mouth without taking his eyes off the sheer _blatancy_ that was the combined presence of Germany and America. “Looks like our baby bros are finally going to get some action. Maybe it’ll keep them off our backs.”  
   
With the sense reminiscent of a gazelle being filmed by wildlife specialists who couldn’t seem to understand that it could _hear them_ narrating, Germany’s attention slid from America’s face to the other two nations.  
   
“Whoops,” England said, snapping his head back to face Prussia’s. His voice dropped to an alcohol-thick whisper that carried nonetheless. “Be stealthier, pet. We’ll scare them.” His mouth brushed Prussia’s neck as he spoke, warm with breath. It had been an accident, but hey, while he was there… He drug his teeth over a scar following a vein that hadn’t been put there within the last century and was therefore safe ground.  
   
“You mean pay more attention to you?” Prussia translated with a sneer. His thumbs circled the jut of England’s hipbones through his jeans. “Easy.”  
   
“A _hem_ ,” Germany interrupted, clearly realizing he’d been found out and scrambling for a diversion. “If we could move this inside, I’m sure the neighbors who have been woken up by your drunken shouting would be happy not to spot you cavorting on our front lawn.”  
   
“ _Cavorting?_ ” Prussia cackled.  
   
Germany flushed and jabbed a finger at the front door. “Just get in the house!”  
   
\---  
   
Germany and America stood outside the door to the former’s room, Germany with his arms crossed awkwardly over his chest and America with a lazy smile made slightly less truthful by the anxious tension in his shoulders. England and Prussia had already slammed into Prussia’s room, door shaking in the frame with the force it was kicked closed with, and every now and then they heard a thump against the wall that neither of them really wanted to consider the origins of.  
   
Swallowing hard, Germany managed, “It’s really late… you should, you should stay…”  
   
“I always stay when we go brother catching,” America pointed out with the same smile, watching Germany’s face carefully.  
   
Germany wet his lips. “Well, yes… That is, I… well…”  
   
America’s hand lifted slowly to curve around the base of Germany’s skull, the other hand leaving his pocket to snag a few fingers in Germany’s instead. “Smooth,” he teased before leaning back against the wall and pulling Germany into him, angling their mouths into a kiss.  
   
Germany’s palm found the wall beside America’s shoulder to balance himself from the sudden movement, but when he realized he wasn’t going to fall and certainly wasn’t going anywhere else, he let it sink lower to the other nation’s waist. He could feel America’s ribs beneath his hand, could feel them expand with each breath, warm beneath his shirt. Later, when Prussia finally pried details from him, he and Germany would come to the conclusion that the mind-derailing kissing skill must be genetic, science be damned.  
   
“How is it…” America asked, meeting Germany’s eyes with his face so close it was difficult to look at him properly (the skin around his mouth was a little pink and worn, and that was fairly distracting---). “That we can be talking about anything from war to economical crises to natural disasters, and you’re the calmest motherfucker in the world, but when it comes to this…” The hand in Germany’s pocket shifted closer to inner-thigh while America’s other thumb traced over Germany’s bottom lip. “You get so nervous?”  
   
“I think it’s just you,” Germany replied hazily, and then glanced hastily to the side. He hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding like that.  
   
America grinned, and the tinge of anxiousness was still there, helping Germany relax again and realize he wasn’t alone. “Me too. I mean, you for me. Too. I mean… damn.” America’s laugh was bright and made something do disconcerting twisting motions in Germany’s chest. “Wow, we’re doing great with the communication thing, huh?”  
   
“I believe you meant to say that being in this situation with me makes you uncharacteristically nervous as well.”  
   
“Yep, that’s it.”  
   
This time, Germany initiated the kiss. It still felt new, unfamiliar, and he approached it with a degree of incredulity, wondering how the simple touch of lips and tongues (the foundation of words, of every conversation they’d ever had, of America’s smiles and the firm line they took when he was determined) could be so igniting. Germany had kissed and been kissed by varying people with varying amounts of passion throughout his life, but he’d never had that first encounter with someone who had been so interwoven into his life firmly in the realm of friendship, only to be turned around in the most unlikely, inexplicable, _peaceful and comfortable_ of times. It was… well, it was heat, and pulling America’s lip between his teeth and sucking, and feeling America’s tongue graze his, and America’s hand flat against his thigh, and his fingers fitting in the grooves between America’s ribs, and ignoring the need to breathe like it was some sort of personal challenge… and despite all of that, feeling happy and trusting and _affectionate_ , completely willing to put himself in the hands of a friend teetering on the edge of something else.  
   
America recovered his tongue to tangle it, slightly breathless, over the words, “We haven’t heard anything from them in a while.” His eyes were blue and filled to the brim to the point of overflowing with mischief as he smirked. “Wanna keep our brothers up for a change?”  
   
Germany arched an eyebrow and matched the smile as America’s hand fumbled with the doorknob to their side. “Of course. It’s only fair that we return such a frequent favor.” And he followed America over the threshold as he backed into the bedroom.  
   
\---  
   
It took a few moments for Prussia to realize what had woken him up. “No. Fucking. Way.” He sat up straight in bed, sheets falling to settle over his bare legs. He heard it again, and reached down beside him to shake England’s shoulder. “Holy shit, man, wake up. I think they’re _actually having sex_.”  
   
England grumbled and buried his face further into the pillow from his position on his stomach. Then his sleep-ridden mind seemed to catch up to what Prussia had said, and his eyes opened. There was a brief pause as he absorbed this information, and then he jolted upright with the same speed that Prussia had. “ _What?_ There’s no way! We would have noticed something between them before, so they had to have had their first kiss tonight, and they both move with the speed of a tectonic plate! There’s no way they’re already---”  
   
A breathy groan bled through the walls.  
   
“---bloody _hell._ ”  
   
“…I think that was Germany.” Prussia seemed to consider something for a moment before cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting, “Yeah, bro! Get some!”  
   
There were a few beats of silence, and then they heard the distinct sound of America laughing, followed by Germany’s, “ _I do not need a cheer-squad, Prussia!”_ , and now England was laughing as well while Prussia catcalled in response, and all four of them knew their nights were only going to get more interesting from there on out.


End file.
